The Opposite of Invisible (10 page)

She checks out the lingerie before paying. It’s lacy, delicate stuff. Nothing like the cotton I usually wear. Oh, God. What if things keep going with Simon? And he, like, sees me in my bra? Or less?

“What do you like there?” I ask her.

She holds up a black bra embroidered with soft pink roses, wiggles it around a little. “Ooh-la-la.”

“For sure.”

She puts it back. “So you’re not meeting your mom for a little. Want to grab a coffee?”

“Always.”

We get our lattes and find seats at the mall coffee place. “So,” she says. “You and Simon looked like you were having fun last night.” She raises her eyebrows and lowers them. “Lots of fun.”

I’m sure I blush. “He’s pretty great.”

“Like how great? I mean, in the kissing department? Come on. Girl talk!”

As if I have much to compare him to. “Stop making me blush!”

“Oh, don’t kiss and tell, huh?”

I can’t believe a cheerleader and I are having this conversation. Is this the kind of friend I can make now?

“Best. Kisser. Ever.” There. I said it.

“And it’s just kissing?” She sips her latte like we’re talking about the weather.

Whoa. “So far.” I try to be as casual as she is.

“Not for long, I bet! He seems really into you.”

“You know what? I think he is.”

“So how far are you gonna go?”

I’m blushing again. “Let’s just say, maybe I should go pick up that pretty bra.”

“Ooh-la-la.”

I sip my latte and she moves on to telling me about gymnastics.

My mind cartwheels when I realize I’ve got a new friend.

I see Vanessa in homeroom on Monday. She’s wearing Jewel’s Backstreet Boys T-shirt. The one I found with him at the junk store last year.

She makes sure I see, sitting up straight as I come in. Usually, she’s bent over her notebook, drawing weird things, like factory buildings with shoelaces.

I want to rip that T-shirt off her. And then what would I have? Vanessa in her bra and me left gripping half a T-shirt. Not a good idea, especially the Vanessa-in-bra part.

I’m wearing my jeans with the new black V-neck, and I swear there are eyes on me. In the same way that Corrigan’s been leering at me.

I keep my arms folded across my chest, both hands grabbing my backpack straps under my armpits as I walk to my desk.

Vanessa turns around in her chair, watching me.

I am on exhibit.

James Dill sits in front of me. Silent James Dill. He turns around and looks at me. I look back. He finally asks, “Simon Murphy?”

I cock my head.

“And that photo guy,” he says. “He used to be your best buddy, right? He’s going after Vanessa Almond?” He
whispers her name like he doesn’t know that the whole homeroom is hyper-tuned to our conversation.

“Kinda.”

“Where did you come from,” he says, and faces the chalkboard. It’s not really a question; he knows I’ve been here all the time.

This guy named after a pickle suddenly finds me interesting.

Welcome to Popular World
, I think.

At lunch, I stare at Simon’s lips. I know what they feel like now. I know how he moves them. I know their taste.

I drop my pretzel when he reaches for my hand.

He holds it by the fingers.

“I’m having so much fun with you,” he says.

“Me too. With you.”

I smile at him. He gives my hand a little squeeze. Something is up.

“Corrigan’s having a party this weekend. Want to go?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say. That will sort of be my big-time social de-virginization.

“And,” Simon says, “he asked if we’d want a room.”

Whoa. That could be a whole different kind of de-virgining.

Too fast! Too fast!
My brain is screaming. I can’t go from gazing at neon condoms from afar to actually needing one. I’ve just started getting used to kissing.

“Um,” I say.

Simon’s eyes are on his carrot sticks. Notably not on me. What is he thinking?

This is going way faster than I’d expected. But I’m his girlfriend now and people do go there.

What if I’m only a girlfriend until we get there?

“You know?” he asks.

I just kind of nod. What should I do? I know what he means by “want a room.” I so don’t feel ready. I was a little embarrassed just talking to Mandy about him seeing me in my bra. How to tell him? Will he break up with me? I push my lunch away.

Corrigan and those guys come up behind Simon. “Speak of the devil,” I say.

“Coach posted those new plays in the locker room,” Corrigan says. “Let’s go.”

Simon stands, flashes his dimple at me. “We’ll talk later.”

During English, I doodle. Simon is in every stroke as I fill a page with countless bubbled-up question marks.

I’m kind of mad that Simon brought up the room. Everything was going so well. He said it; we were having fun. Now there’s this big thing already.

He did seem … weird about it. And he said it was Corrigan’s idea. Is it possible that Simon’s nervous too?

On my walk home, I notice that the junk shop has changed its window display. It’s full of fifties-esque clothing now, and rhinestone sunglasses.

The rain falls. I concentrate on the traffic passing by, its swishing sound. Like waves.

It’s an effort to get through the mile home today. Minimal sleep combined with maximal weirdness has rendered me heavy and slow.

At home, I sink into a nap.

I dream that my Dove Girl has come to life. She’s speaking to me, but it’s all in Catalan. I have a feeling she’s trying to tell me where I belong. But I can’t understand.

When I wake up, I work on my art assignment: a still life in charcoal. The rain misses me as I sit under a wool blanket on our front porch in the Adirondack chair and study the tree. The middle-of-the-night tree. The first-kiss tree.

I am beginning to form its trunk when I see someone coming down the street. A guy wearing a black jacket with a hood, moving slowly toward my house. For a second, I’m not sure if it’s Simon or Jewel.

When he reaches the porch, Simon stands in front of me, dripping.

“You’re soaked.” I can’t believe he’s here. This is what I’ve dreamed of. It’s a boyfriendy thing to do, stopping by like this.

He shakes his head like a wet animal. “I wanted to see you.”

I close my sketchpad with the charcoal inside holding my page, smudging my work. “Yeah?”

I put the pad on the wooden deck and sit back to look
at him. Before I know it, he’s bent over me, kissing me, drizzling rain from his jacket, his face, his hair. I bet this is what it feels like to shower with someone.

The idea of me and Simon naked together upstairs in the shower while my parents are in the dining room, scheming to save the world, makes me laugh. I pull awkwardly away.

He’s grinning. “What’s funny?”

I consider telling him, but
No! Keep that little fantasy a secret
. “You! You surprised me.”

“Ready or not,” he says, “here I come.”

We kiss again.

The bedroom proposition enters my head and I freeze.

He pulls back and sits down on the porch by my feet, facing me cross-legged. “So.”

“I just, um. I was thinking about … the party?”

He looks down at his sneakers. Is Simon Murphy nervous? About me?

I have to just say what I think.

How to phrase it?
“I’m a virgin
.” (Duh.) “
No funny business.” “Have you been tested?”

Oh, wow. What if the proposition was innocent and he just meant a room in which to … talk. Party. Like a VIP thing? Yeah, right.

Say something, say something
.

He looks at me. “We don’t have to.”

I swear, my shoulders deflate with relief.

“We don’t?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Corrigan and those guys just like to talk big. It’s part of why I like you,” he says. “You’re separate from all that. It’s easier … to be myself around you.”

I think I really am dreaming. What movie did he steal that line from, about being himself? Then I see his eyes, aimed up at me. He’s sincere.

I want to be with him. I want him to keep looking at me like that.

“Who’s gonna be at the party, anyway?”

“Oh, you know. The crowd. Plus usually Nicolai Gregory crashes. People like him. He’s fun at parties.”

“Plus he’s the king.”

“Yeah. That too.” Simon grins again.

I ask what I really want to know. “Is there any chance that his queen will show?”

“Vanessa? He brings her around sometimes, yeah.”

I pull my blanket tighter around myself. “Hey, there’s no way Vanessa will bring Jewel to Corrigan’s, is there?”

“Would he go?”

“Doubtful.”

“So. Probably not. But would you want Jewel there?”

“Jewel at Mike Corrigan’s for a social event? That’s so alternate universe.”

“But he hasn’t been hanging out with you lately. What’s up with that?”

I look into those emerald eyes. “We’re both hanging out with new people.”

“Is it … at all because of me? I don’t want to be in the
way of you and your friend. Maybe
you
should bring him to the party. It’s fine by me.”

That’s so sweet. So impossible, but so sweet. “I’d rather just go with you.”

He takes my hand. We stare at each other for a while. I can hear the rain pinging on the porch roof. I’m cozy in my blanket. So I share it with him.

We jump apart when my mom calls me in for clam chowder. Simon walks off in the rain, my kisses on his lips.

At lunch, I sit with Simon’s friends now. The girls compliment my hair. “Who does your highlights?” asks Mandy.

“No one.”

“You do that yourself? What, drugstore box stuff? Brave girl.”

“No. Mother Nature did it.”
Mother Nature? What kind of freak am I?

“Natural?” She squeaks. “Whoa.”

The guys mainly talk about sports.

“So, Friday night?” Mandy looks at me over cold veggie burgers. “Corrigan’s party!” She pulls sesame seeds off her bun. “You’re going, right?”

“Yeah, we’re going.”

Corrigan grins at Simon and I want to puke. Is that about the room thing?

Mandy looks at me. She’s looking at me … almost like she’s … jealous? “This party’s gonna rock. I’m so glad you’re coming.”

Mandy’s blond streaks make her look like a model, seriously. “Thanks,” I say.

“Hey,” she says, “want to do a pairs class with Jim?”

I wonder if people think it’s weird that we both take glassblowing classes. But who cares?

“Let’s set it up.”

On Wednesday, Simon picks me up after dinner.

We drive around for a while and decide to park and look at the view of downtown from the little park on Queen Anne Hill. The Space Needle looks truly alien.

I try to concentrate on what I’m seeing. The sense of Simon, so close, makes it difficult.

My favorite part of the view is that you only know that Elliott Bay is down there because it’s the absence of buildings, of lights in the nighttime. Darkest blue. You can look from downtown, over that almost-black water, all the way to West Seattle, knowing that between the pieces of land, another world lives. Orcas.

We stand at the fence, Simon’s arm around my waist. His fingers press in and out, so lightly. I can’t see anything.

“Are there wild octopi down there?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says. “Lots.”

“Tell me more about the aquarium,” I say.

“The sea otters are fun,” he says.

“They’re cute, huh?”

“And they eat twenty-five percent of their body weight per day. Kind of like Corrigan.”

I smile at that. “You’re so informed,” I say.

“I don’t talk about that sea life stuff with everyone, you know.”

“Why not?”

“I guess people would think it’s weird.”

“I don’t.”

He looks out across the sound. “I know you don’t.”

The breeze gets chilly. I don’t want to go home yet, so I concentrate on not shivering.

“Let’s head out,” Simon says.

When we get back to the car he unlocks our doors and puts his keys in his pocket. Not in the ignition.

Literally, we steam up the windows.

Our bodies stretch around the stick shift, the empty travel mug. Simon breathes slow and heavy, and I match his rhythm. It feels crazy, making out like this parked on a street in the ritziest neighborhood in town.

We kiss, rocking. He moves his hands under my tank top, just on my back.

I let him slip his hand under my bra. It feels so amazingly good.

How far am I ready to go? How much do I trust him? Right now I think I’d do anything.

I say, “Let’s move to the backseat.”

He rests his head on my chest, his hair up under my chin.

How to put this? “More comfy.” I kiss his cheek. He leans into my neck, nibbles. He lets out a grunt.

That’s when I realize. That grunt. I am so not ready to do this. Like an animal. It kind of makes me feel like I could be just any girl, not special; to Simon, is the physical stuff really only just physical?

I can’t believe that, for a second, I was forgetting that when you have sex, you’re supposed to be in love.